Good Time(24)

Also, I’m an idiot.

I’m having tacos with a total stranger who just happens to be my husband because I’m a complete idiot. A hot mess. A disaster of epic proportions.

I’ve fucked up royally.

I take another bite because really, this taco is all I have going for me right now. It’s a crunchy taco and Vince isn’t speaking so the soundtrack for the entire apartment is nothing but me crunching and I don’t even care. I keep my head down and take another bite.

Vince unwraps a taco and I notice he’s still wearing his wedding ring, as am I. It didn’t even occur to me to take mine off. I should though, shouldn’t I? I can’t very well wear it to work this week, unless maybe I stack a few rings around it and pretend it doesn’t mean anything? Like it’s just part of a fun set of rings I picked up along with a husband over the weekend.

God. I’m a mess. Keeping the ring on will not make any of this more real. I’m the worst first date in the history of first dates. Like a first-date praying mantis. The fact that we weren’t even on a date is not lost on me. I’ve got skills, man. Terrible, terrible skills.

I manage to consume three tacos and take a drag on my iced coffee, rattling the ice around the cup as I do before Vince speaks. I’ve been staring at the table and cramming tacos in my face so I’ve not given him much of an in conversationally. He’s eaten two tacos. They were both soft shell with chicken. I made a note of it so that I’ll have a few facts to remember him by. Likes soft-shell tacos, is good at arcade games, likes Scotch, is good at eating my pussy, likes poker.

“So we should talk,” Vince prompts.

“Or we should have sex,” I counter-offer, because I like both tacos and sex. It’s a good offer. Generous even. I’m a giver.

“Why is that?”

Oh, God, maybe he’s the idiot? “Because it’s fun,” I reply in the most duh tone of voice I can summon. “And because your tongue is amazing,” I add before thinking better of it. Not because I’m above giving him a compliment, but because it just doesn’t seem like the time for it.

Vince takes a slow pull on his bottle of water, eyes on mine as he tips it back and drinks. When he’s through, he wets his lips with his tongue and I’m not sure if it’s intentional, but it’s effective all the same.

“You’re very demanding,” he notes. Okay, so he’s not totally unobservant.

I shrug.

“So how do you see this playing out?” He says it casually in that calm, unhurried way he has about him. I’ve got no idea if he means our marriage or my request to have sex, so I go with the one I’m more interested in discussing.

“Missionary, actually. But not boring, so maybe my hands are pinned above my head or one of my knees is hiked over your shoulder so you can get in really deep. I was picturing it a little rough, a good hard fuck with me flat on my back. But whatever you like, I’m flexible. Legiterally.”

Vince rubs a thumb across his bottom lip, his eyes on mine. He’s got the hottest beard. The hair is short, more like a thick stubble, but dark and I find it sexy as all hell. I also think it might have given him an unfair advantage in the oral department, but then again I’m the one who benefited, so if his stubble brushing against my bare pussy gives him a head start who am I to complain? I’m not the oral Olympics judge.

Vince stands and pushes his chair in. There are still half a dozen uneaten tacos piled on the table between us as he leans down, bracing his weight on his knuckles as he bends closer. Then he pauses, and for a moment I’m unsure if he’s going to say anything or just push back and leave.

“Stand up.”

I push my chair back from the table and stand, the scrape of wood against tile doing little to calm my nerves. Nerves because I’m not exactly sure where this is going but I’m hoping it’s going exactly where I want it to go. By it I mean Vince’s penis inside my vagina. He’s been a real dick tease thus far.

He signals with his hand for me to walk, his eyes flickering between the two open bedroom doors off the living room. I swallow and walk towards mine, feeling him directly behind me. I stop when I’ve reached the side of my bed. Vince has stopped in the doorway of my bedroom.

“My roommate isn’t coming home,” I offer. “She stopped by earlier to pick up some of her stuff and then left with Rhys.”

Vince nods but doesn’t speak, hands in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe while he visually inspects my bedroom. I don’t feel like there’s that much to see since I only moved in a few weeks ago. A queen-sized bed with an upholstered headboard, a dresser and a matching nightstand. But he seems to find it all very interesting, based on his slow perusal. The lamp, the mini-blinds, the tank top hanging from the knob on my closet door—his gaze covers it all, slowly, methodically. A smiles tugs at his lips when he sees the shark from last night on my pillow.

When his eyes move back to mine his brows rise, as if he’s confused about why I’m standing there watching him.

“Undress.”

I lift my shirt over my head before dragging the yoga pants down my legs, kicking them free of my ankles then snaking a hand behind my back to unclip my bra. I’m not particularly graceful or seductive, but I’m wearing a t-shirt and yoga pants so I don’t think there’s any way around that. Vince watches as my bra falls free, the straps sliding down my arms before it drops to the floor. His eyes trail downwards to the cotton boy shorts covering my bottom and he wets his lips with his tongue as I shimmy out of those too.